


let go, fall in

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>David doesn’t know what he’s doing, tucked away in a corner of a crowded Los Angeles club with another man’s mouth pressed to the bulge in his regulation slacks.</i> AU where Archie meets Cook while serving as a missionary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let go, fall in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rajkumari905](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rajkumari905/gifts).



> Pri prompted me with ‘semi-public sex.’ based loosely on the film ‘latter days,’ though you don’t need to have seen it in order to understand this fic. title from ‘fade into me’ by david cook. (also I’m thinking of exploring this idea further? but for now you just get a smutty snippet).

David doesn’t know what he’s doing, tucked away in a corner of a crowded Los Angeles club with another man’s mouth pressed to the bulge in his regulation slacks.

Not just any man, but _Cook_ , the scruffy rocker who lives in the same apartment complex as David, who had spotted him struggling with his boxes the day he’d moved in with the other missionaries and saved David from tripping up the stairs, his smile open and friendly and the first welcoming sight David had seen since landing in this crazy, crowded, _busy_ city.

“David Cook,” he’d said, using the hand not juggling the other side of David’s box to shake the younger man’s hand, and David had stuttered out his own name, “Um, I’m David, too? David Archuleta,” only remembering later that they weren’t actually supposed to give out their first names.

Cook talked to him about the city and his roommates and his band – “We play every weekend at a place nearby, you should come” – and David had listened with barely concealed envy as Cook told him about the record deal they were _this close_ to making, how they’d already released a demo and had big plans for putting out an album and going on tour, and he’d invited David over to listen to them play, whenever he liked, even after he’d had to deal with the judgmental stares of David’s new roommates.

David had tried to ignore his new (fascinating) neighbor, immersing himself in scripture and his duties and trying to learn his way around the city, but Cook kind of made it impossible. He’d wave at David whenever they crossed paths and strike up conversations in the communal laundry room, and David couldn’t help but be drawn to him, to his easy smiles and bright eyes and charming charisma. He knew he should be careful, knew what his roommates would say if they saw the two of them together (they already thought David was spacey and a little weird, he was always humming under his breath and he hadn’t been able to break his habit of flailing his hands whenever he got excited or flustered), but, for some reason, David just didn’t care.

He _liked_ Cook. Cook was friendly and welcoming and so nice, and he played the guitar and _sang_ , and his voice was so, um, was really nice, and even his roommates, who were all big and tattooed and a little scary looking, always greeted David like a friend whenever he came over, and pat him on the shoulder or ruffled his hair when they passed.

Cook made those first few months away from his family bearable; David didn’t feel so overwhelmed by all of the new people and the new city when Cook was there to tell him horrible jokes and make goofy faces at him whenever they passed in the halls, and to play these really soft, soothing songs whenever David looked too wound up or homesick. 

David couldn’t deny that Cook was, um, really attractive, and that his heart kind of jumped whenever Cook sat near him, or sung to him, or looked at him, and he didn’t think he was imagining the way Cook’s eyes would follow him across a room, or the way Cook always held a hug a little too long to be strictly friendly, or the way Cook would make these casual, kind of innuendo-laden remarks around David, and _look_ at him as if… as if –

As if Cook _liked_ him, too, and it should have felt wrong, David had been taught all of his life that it _was_ wrong, but. It didn’t feel that way. When Cook looked at him, when Cook touched him, it felt _right_.

So when Cook had invited him out tonight, David had said yes, despite the fact that he was breaking about a hundred rules, and if anybody caught him out it could get back to his _father_ , and he was taking far too big a risk for this man who he’d only met a few months ago, who was eight years older than him and worked in a bar and had all of these tattoos and sang like David had never heard before, who laughed with his whole body and didn’t care that David didn’t smoke or drink or curse, who thought David was funny even when David had no idea why, who _liked_ David.

So David threw caution to the wind. He waited until his roommates were asleep and snuck out of the apartment, praying that no one would notice his absence, and showed up at Cook’s door in his slacks and button down shirt feeling like an idiot, because all anyone had to do was take one look at him and know he didn’t belong there, didn’t belong with Cook.

Cook had taken one look at his miserable expression and shook his head, all fondly, had pulled him inside his apartment and to his bedroom, rummaging in his closet and pulling out a wrinkled black vest, and a skinny black tie, and he’d popped the first few buttons of David’s shirt while David just stood there, heart pounding in his chest, so loudly he was sure Cook could hear it, standing still as Cook pulled the vest over his shoulders, fastening the clasps and smoothing the fabric down across David’s chest and stomach, tossing the tie around his neck and knotting it in a few practiced moves, tucking the end into the vest.

“There,” he’d said, standing back and surveying his handiwork, smiling normally even though his eyes were dark, and his voice had been really rough and hoarse, and David had _wanted_ , well, he didn’t know what, only that he _did_. 

He’d stuck close to Cook’s side when they got to the club, and Cook had thrown his arm around David’s shoulders, leading him through the crowd of dancing bodies, had ordered a beer for himself and a root beer for David without having to be asked, and then they’d both headed upstairs to the second floor, where the lighting was worse but the floor was less crowded.

It was nothing like David had ever imagined, the music blaring through the speakers and people everywhere dancing alone or in groups or in pairs, and David saw girls dancing with girls and guys dancing with guys and everything in between, and everyone looked _happy_. He could see Cook’s friends, too, Neal and Andy, Kyle and Dylan and Monty, hanging out at the bar or out on the dance floor, and Cook was a warm weight against his side, smiling at David and talking over the music about inconsequential things, the music and the people and David felt warm and happy and safe, and he kind of wanted to do something crazy, to slide his arm around Cook’s waist, to ask him to dance, to tilt his head up and kiss him.

And even though a small part of him quailed at the idea, screaming at him in his father’s demanding voice that it was wrong, that he shouldn’t be here, David didn’t care, stuffing that voice and its demands and all of its negativity into a box in the back of his mind, because being with Cook made him happy, and that should be the only thing that mattered.

“Do you want to… ?” he’d asked, feeling unaccountably bold, and placed his hand on Cook’s arm, and Cook’s eyes had lit up even as he’d moved forward, setting their drinks on a nearby table so he could grab David’s hands and pull him to a secluded corner of the floor to dance.

It had been nice, and a little scary, and David had been so sure he’d do something stupid like step on Cook’s feet or knock something over, but Cook had pulled him close, his hands low on David’s hips, and guided him along to the music, and he had looked at David like he was the only person in the room, his gaze dark and sort of intense, and David had been totally unable to look away, wanting so much to breach the scant few inches between them, and he must have made some noise, given Cook some sign, because Cook had said his name, all low and gravelly, and gently pushed David up against the wall, and – oh gosh – kissed him.

He should have been terrified, should have been nervous; he’d never done this before, never had someone pressed against him like this, never had someone take the control right out of his hands like Cook was doing, but it wasn’t scary, it was _freeing_ , and he’d threaded his fingers through Cook’s messy hair, letting Cook’s lips and tongue guide his actions, groaning into the kiss, forgetting they were in a crowded club, and Cook had pulled back and tucked his chin into the hollow of David’s throat, breathing hard, and David remembers thinking, _I did that. That’s because of me._

How it went from that first frantic kiss to now, with David’s fingers clenched in Cook’s hair, Cook on his knees in front of him, mouthing at David’s erection through his pants, David doesn’t know. He feels _wrecked_ , out of control, hot and shivery all over, and he doesn’t even care that they’re barely hidden from the prying eyes of the other club-goers, that anyone could pass by and see them, he just wants Cook to keep touching him, to keep making those hungry, desperate, almost _musical_ sounds against him, to keep looking up at him like he can’t believe David is here, like he’s something astonishing, something precious.

Cook surges up and presses his mouth to David’s, swallowing his strangled cries as Cook unbuttons his slacks, plunging his hand inside to wrap around David’s cock, slick and aching, and Cook’s calluses catch on the skin as he wraps his fist around it, pumping in long, languid strokes, driving David _crazy_ , and there’s a familiar heat pooling deep in his belly, spreading out into his groin, and he’s going to, he’s going to –

“Let go, David,” Cook huffs against his ear, pressing his lips to the lobe. “C’mon, David, _let go_ ,” and David does.

Cook soothes him through it, kissing his cheek as David slumps back against the wall, his nose, his fluttering eyelids. David can feel him, hard, against his hip, but Cook doesn’t do anything to bring attention to it, instead stroking his rough fingers over David’s cheekbone, smiling as David opens his eyes.

“You still with me, David?” he asks, and beneath the contentment and satisfaction David can still detect a hint of nervousness in Cook’s voice, like he’s afraid he’s crossed a line, pushed too far too fast. 

And maybe everything _is_ moving too quickly, maybe David should be a little ashamed of himself, sneaking out in the middle of the night, slumped in Cook’s arms with his pants unbuttoned in a public place, Cook’s hand sticky-wet with his release. 

But with Cook looking at him, all fond and affectionate and vulnerable, all David can do is lean forward and kiss him again, and hope that Cook understands all that David can’t say.


End file.
